Domain of the Beloved
by Tidia
Summary: On route to a hunt Dean gets a phone call. Cassie is dead. He decides not to tell Sam, but will it have ramfications on their hunt at a high school in Texas? Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: I wrote this while studying and my angst level was high. It still is high :) Thank you for Ridley and Lara for looking at this fic and betaing. I love to hear reviews, but I will be traveling, but promise to reply to all. Because I will be traveling in Italy (any SN fans there?) there will probably be a week before the next post. The second part is set up-- the third part is still in progress. Ohh, and this fic is not brief-I really do try to go in depth._

**Domain of the Beloved**

**Part 1**

An hour ago Sam fell fast asleep in the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean could hear his brother's breathing, even over the Led Zepplin tape that was playing softly throughcar's stereo speakers. There was a lot of road in front of them as they headed to Texas. The dark pavement was clear though and it was perfect driving weather-a few wispy clouds in the sky to cut down on the glare, the sun shining keeping the car's dark interior comfortable.

Dean rolled his shoulders. He was on his fourth hour of driving, and relished the fact that he would drive another two. There were days that he didn't want to relinquish control of driver's seat, and this was one of those days. He smiled, luxuriating in the open road of possibilities before him, and the responsiveness of a V-8 engine. Momentslike this seemed to be so passive, but actually involved action with a slight adjustment to the gas pedal or the steering wheel.

His phone began buzzing. When Sam had fallen asleep, he had placed the phone on vibe so that no incoming calls would disturb his younger brother's rest. Exhaustion was his brother's companion, and sometimes there was need for a trial separation. Sam would just crash, usually in the Impala where he was lulled like a child by the hum of the engine.

He glanced at the caller id, but did not recognize the number. There was familiarity in the area code—the state of Missouri. Dean answered it before it went into his voice mail.

"Hello," He gave a quiet greeting, keeping his voice low. He glanced at Sam who had not stirred at the disruption.

He listened to the feminine voice, trying to remember the last person he had hooked up with for a night of release. "Yes, that's me. How can I help you?"

He gripped the phone against his ear, frozen in moment. He didn't understand what the person was saying. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch that."

It was funny how the mind sometimes did not want to comprehend the unexpected. It was probably a protection mechanism. He heard himself asking the question, "When?" and then a moment later, "How?"

He swallowed at the replies, staring straight ahead. "Okay, thanks."

He blinked, remembering he was driving a car, but thankfully the car in front of him was still at a distance. During the conversation, his foot slipped slightly off the gas. Dean closed the phone, and then opened it, shutting it off. Closing it again he slipped it into his jacket pocket. His eyes filled up with the emotion that wanted to escape. He gave a soft cough, and then wiped his eyes. With two hands he gripped the steering wheel. He glanced in the rear view mirror, looking away when he did not like what he saw. He had to keep it together. He had to stay in control.

A small highway sign on the right hand side of the road stated that a rest area was up ahead. Dean pushed the signal lever up decided he needed to stop for a moment. The rest area had a gas station, Burger King and an Arbys giving travelers a choice in their caloric intake. Dean pulled the Impala over, parking it near a white Toyota Echo. He liked the contrast-black and white, big and small. It was the little thoughts that kept the horrors at bay.

He shut the car engine off, and pocketed the keys. He had forgotten that Sam was sleeping soundly as he shut the car door, letting it slip before he could quietly close it with a click.

"Hey?" His brother said groggily, stretching as he woke up, but not fully alert.

Dean opened the door again to speak to Sam. He didn't look at his brother; instead he focused on the family entering the fast food restaurant, taking them in as though they were the latest threat. "Yeah, I just need to take a leak."

"Okay," Sam sighed, rubbing his hair before curling up again.

"Go back to sleep." Dean said with a hush tone. This time he closed the door quietly.

There was a bank of bathrooms by the Burger King, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to have to walk into either of the restaurants, and then feel obligated that since he had used their bathroom he should make a purchase. The white doors on the blue painted cinder block structures were not inviting, but they allowed privacy. Dean closed the door behind him, careful to lock it before he slid down the door, coming to rest on the tile floor. He wrapped his hands over his head, so his elbows covered his eyes, and hunched his back. Tears rolled down his face as he hit the back of the door with his head.

He took a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. He couldn't stay in the bathroom too long, before Sam would become concerned. He removed his phone from his pocket again and turned it on. Scrolling deftly through the few numbers he highlighted 'Cassie.' He put the phone to his forehead, letting it rest there for a minute.

Cassie was dead.

Her friend had called, having found his phone number listed in her Palm Pilot. Cassie had moved to a new town as working at another newspaper. Dean had known that part. Cassie had been excited at the challenge.

She had just purchased a condo. And then Dean could visualize the rest-her death.

The demon, his yellow eyes glowing menacingly, had stood over her. He would have liked to think that she was sleeping, but more than likely he had stalked her in her own home, cornering her and then pinned her to the ceiling. Her blood dripped as she screamed for help. But, Dean wasn't there to save her. She had burned, like his mother, like Jessica.

Cassie's friend had told him the official story: There had been a fire; faulty wiring to blame and she had died.

Dean looked at the phone again. He had been in the bathroom for five minutes. It was funny how time passed so slowly, yet moments stayed ingrained in your mind for a lifetime. Dean stood up, and walked over to the mirror. Tears streaked his face. His eyes were red. He also saw the truth.

It had been the demon exacting revenge on Dean. Two wrongs don't make a right, the demon has said before attacking him. The Demon was getting even. Dean turned on the cold water and splashed his face. The water burned against his eyes, or that may have been the tears trying to permeate his being once more. He grabbed a fistful of the coarse paper towels and patted his face dry.

Again he looked at the pocked mirror, checking to see for evidence. To his eyes he looked hollow, but no one else would see it. Sam wouldn't see it, which was the way it needed to be.

He patted his other pocket, remembering he had sunglasses in there. He unlocked the door, went out the glare of the rest stop, making his way with determined steps back to the Impala while putting on his dark sunglasses for protection. Sam was resting again, head pressed against the glass. He opened his eyes a crack at the creak of the car door, and gave a nod.

Dean nodded, and started the engine, backing out to get them back on the highway. He kept the silence, and Sam fell asleep once more leaving Dean to his own remunerations.

Hours passed as he relived his moments with Cassie. First the two weeks he had spent with her in Georgia. They met on a Friday and had thirteen nights together. Thirteen had never been an unlucky number for him-he never believed all the press about the number thirteen. But, there wasn't a fourteenth night because he had told her the truth, about the 'family business.' Maybe fourteen should be his unlucky number.

Then there was the phone call that changed his life once more, and he embraced it. A few more days together, and he questioned his choices. Sure, they would fight until they were eighty, but there was something powerful between them. Now, Cassie wouldn't live to see twenty-six. Had he cursed her, believing she would live to a ripe old age by his side? His guilty thoughts were interrupted by his brother.

"When did we make it into Texas?" Sam stated sounding alert and refreshed. He was looking at the green highway signs.

Dean had taken notice intermittently of his surroundings, even though he was lost in his own emotional world. "About an hour and half ago."

Dean felt his brother's staring at him. "Geez, Dean, why didn't you wake me? You've been driving for over six hours."

"Time goes by when you are having fun." The older Winchester smirked. The responsibility of driving was the only thing keeping him sane. The monotony was in direct dichotomy to turmoil he was feeling. However, he understood his limitations, and the fact he had to maintain his shell for Sam. "I figured we would stop soon."

"We close to Dumas?" Sam looked around, attempting to get some bearings. The Texas panhandle was flat and its unremarkable highway terrain did not reveal its location to travelers.

"It's the next town over." Dean cleared his throat. His internal monologue had left his throat dry and constricted. He had a role that he had to play-big brother not mourner.

Sam did not notice anything amiss with Dean. The younger brother rolled his shoulders. "Do you want to go to the school now or tomorrow?"

Dean felt he was barely keeping it together. He couldn't focus on a hunt at this moment. "Tomorrow, no rush since school is out for the summer." He had to think about pretenses, what would he have done if he hadn't gotten the phone call of Cassie's death? He had to think back when things were simple direct versus indirect. "We can get something to eat, find a place and play some pool."

"Fine," Sam sighed, and Dean heard the frustration in the tone.

"What? Can't wait to smell the pencils and paper? " The older Winchester brother was going to hold firm. They had yet to think of a plan on how to tackle this latest supernatural finding.

"No, it's just that web board. . ." Sam stretched his arms, until his shoulders popped. He relayed the story that had gotten their attention. "A popular girl dies when no one picks up her after volleyball practice. The police have no idea who did it. Then suddenly there is all this strange stuff happening." The Dumas High School web board was filled with pages of comments from classmates who were sharing their experiences with the supernatural. "Kids are getting hurt. It seems urgent."

"Sam, they're high schoolers. It's all about the drama with them. Don't you watch One Tree Hill?" The incidents ranged from the innocuous with people being locked in rooms and furniture moving around unassisted to physical attacks. Three boys had been pummeled by gym equipment when they went into the supply closet. Some lockers closed unexpectantly while students were still getting out books had left many a bruised hand.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "I don't think that One Tree Hill has had an episode where the bathrooms on the first floor filled with blood."

Dean's reply was silent, as he looked at the road ahead. That had been the catalyst that had them on the road from Tennessee. The principal had quickly reassured the students that the incident was normal-the city was cleaning out the water pipes. But, a quick look at records showed the Winchester brothers that the water department was not cleaning on that day.

"It's the summer-no kids in school. It can wait a day." Dean knew it was completely unnatural for him not to want to rush in, but he wanted to be more cautious or maybe it was the feelings of sadness on the periphery that made him feel deeply calm. "Plus, it isn't like we don't know what we are getting into—those kids already did our research for us. Everything started with the girl's death."

Sam nodded in agreement although knowing his brother there would be some research involved. "I wonder if they would have noticed if Christy Kenney wasn't one of the most popular girls at school."

Dean smiled. The grin did not reach his eyes, and didn't echo inside of him, but Sam's high school angst was a laughable issue. "Dude, get over it."

"What?" Sam stated, looking at his brother in puzzlement.

Dean shook his head. He remembered his brother's complaining the entire last four years of his public school education. It was part of his brother's modus operandi-he had wanted to fit in, and be normal-part of his grand plan. "You weren't popular in high school." Dean reminded his younger brother. "It's over-not everyone can reach those upper echelons of high school."

"Upper echelons?" Sam snorted. He gestured to the tape hanging out of the Impala's stereo. "You didn't even rank."

"I was cool-I didn't need to be popular." Dean replied, wanting to quickly dismiss this conversation. It was all so unimportant. At that moment he wanted to drop the façade. He wanted to tell his brother that Cassie was dead. But, that would lead to a pity party, and Dean didn't want pity. He didn't want his brother to say the famous cliché, 'Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.' And he didn't want the camaraderie of death with his brother. Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter. Sometimes he needed to get through things not day by day but, moment by moment.

"Riigghht, whatever you need to tell yourself." Sam commented, and Dean found it appropriate in light of his thoughts. "You know, maybe Christy Kenney was a coincidence- a red herring." Sam rubbed a hand over hid mouth in thought.

"Maybe, I mean that school was asking for trouble." Dean recalled the Dumas high school web page. "Their athletic teams are called the Demons and Demonettes. Talk about playing for the wrong team. . ."

Sam laughed. "They were conference champs-guess it's not hurting them."

"Deals with the devil. . ." Dean let his words trail off finding that topic completely inappropriate. They had entered Dumas city limits and the metallic Super Motel sign loomed ahead.

Dean flicked the signal up, and turned right into the parking lot. Two cars were in the parking lot. Summer season in Dumas didn't invite tourist. Dean parked the car near the door of the furthest room. He shut the car off, and walked to the registration area-the heat from the pavement coming through his shoes with each step.

The bell above the door jingled, announcing his entry to the bored clerk watching television. Dean checked in without issue and minimal conversation. As he walked back to the Impala, he noticed Sam outside by the trunk removing their bags.

Dean accepted his duffle, and tossed the memento the clerk had given him to his brother. "Here, don't say I don't think of you."

Sam fumbled for a moment, but caught the item. "What is this?"

Dean smirked at the caricature of the cowboy illustrated on the pin. "A pin they give to all the losers-I mean travelers who come here."

"I'm a Ding Dong Daddy from Dumas?" Sam replied, studying the inscription. He tossed it back at his older brother.

"Some guy wrote this song, inspired by this town . . . and the rest is history." Dean threw the pin away in the trash. They walked to the door of the room. Dean opened the door. "The clerk said here was a bar down the road with the best barbecue."

Sam paused for a moment, gauging his hunger level. "I could eat."

After a quick shower to remove the sediment of the drive they headed to Sal's Barbeque. The bar was no different than any of the other dives they went to, greeting patrons with its dark wood accented by glass and mirrors. Two flat screen televisions adorned each corner-one with triple A baseball and the other with National League game. Three pool tables to the left attracted a small crowd. Pub tables were set up in front of the bar, for additional seating. Dean and Sam occupied a table.

Dean tried to ignore the stench of smoke and the sweet smell of barbeque, which he usually found invigorating. Normally, he would asses the crowd-the women mainly, pick one out and hone in. Everyone looked ugly to him. He let Sam order-two beers and two full slabs of ribs.

Dean smiled at the waitress as an acknowledgement, nothing more. Dean let Sam ramble, lulled by his brother's narrow mumblings about the present job. The ribs and the beer came quickly, with a set of wet wipes on the side.

Sam, after having slept for most of the car ride decided he was ravenous and inhaled his order. The French fries were attacked next.

"Next time Sammy, order the whole cow." Dean had eaten half of the slab, instead finding the beer more refreshing.

Sam eyed his brother's remnants. "If you're not going to finish yours off…."

"Here," Dean pushed the basket to his brother. He looked back to the pool tables. They needed some money, and Dean craved being productive. He signaled to his brother that he was heading to the pool tables. Dean scanned the few patrons, finally finding his mark-An older biker with red scraggly hair, a pool stick in one hand and his woman in the other. She was a bleached blonde, pretending she was in her twenties with a too short skirt, when she was over forty.

Dean pulled out a twenty from his wallet, folded it and placed it between two fingers in his right hand. "You interested?" He asked interrupting the couple.

The older man was shaking his head, happy to be with his lady friend. She however prompted him.

"Come on, honey, for me?" She cooed, pursing her lips, making the bright pink blush on her cheeks stand out more.

"Just for you," he pulled her in tighter. "Rack 'em up."

Dean knew he was better, but let the game continue at an amiable rate. The girl, Cheryl, kept cheering on her boyfriend, Roy, who Dean discovered was wearing Outlaw colors on the back of his denim vest. Had Dean saw the skull and cross bones insignia he would have picked someone else to play.

Dean won the first game, and would have walked away, but it was double or nothing and he was tired of the smug, happy couple. He wanted them to lose. The hunter let the biker break out of courtesy, but that was Dean's last friendly gesture.

At some point, Dean got into his face-toe to toe with a man with the skull and cross bones patch on his vest. Incredibly stupid, but he didn't care. Sam must have been watching from his perch at the bar, because he wandered over when he saw his brother's confrontation. He pulled his brother back, trying to decrease the tension of the situation. "Dean what is up with you?" Sam smiled at the victim giving him a nod.

"What?" Dean replied, jutting out his chin. "He thinks I'm cheating!"

Sam shook his head out of disbelief and courtesy to the large man that his brother had insulted. "Can you read minds or something?"

"Or something," Dean walked around his brother, and gestured to the other player. "Forget it. Take another shot if it makes you feel better. Five minutes more won't make a difference." Dean taunted.

"Kid, back off." The red headed man turned his neck and looked at his patch as a warning to Dean. "This is a friendly game of pool-that's all."

Sam laughed nervously, and stayed close to his brother, ready to fight by his side. "Yeah, friendly, Dean can do friendly." Sam glared at his brother. Dean ignored him. He didn't want Sam making excuses for him, after they had thrown their happiness in his face.

Dean had been correct. Five minutes was all that was needed to win the game. The larger man handed Dean a fifty dollar bill, folded, and placed it in Dean's shirt pocket. He patted the pocket. "You're lucky, kid. Very lucky, that she's here." Dean was about to make a derogatory comment, but glanced at Cheryl. He was reminded about the power of women-how their touchcould bewas empowering, loving and calming.

Sam pulled his brother away, pushing him out the exit. Dean let himself be pushed, and guided.

"Wow, you were a real ass." Sam walked over to the driver's side. He held up his hand for Dean to throw him the keys.

"Whatever," Dean accepted his punishment, and tossed his brother the car keys. He could turn off and on his emotions, but some were seeping out in his need to be violent. He wanted a fight, but knew he couldn't draw attention to himself, or Sam.

The younger hunter continued his diatribe. "We're spending the next few days here and you go riling up the locals, a one percenter—not cool."

"You done? 'Cause I'm tired." Dean closed his eyes, and relaxed against the leather passenger seat of the Impala. The drive was only a few minutes, but it allowed him to gather his thoughts.

The hotel initially appeared dingy, suddenly was pristine after leaving the bar. Dean took another shower, avoiding any further discussion with his brother who was researching on his laptop, plugged into the phone outlet in order to gain internet access. Dean flopped on the bed, and turned the television on. He waited for Sam to fall asleep, feigning sleep for hours. Dean wished that Sam had not slept the hours away in the car. Hours passed before Sam emitted a yawn and decided to call it a night, or an early morning as the case may be. Dean waited, patiently for the soft even breathing that signaled REM sleep. Quietly, he removed the sheet that covered him, pausing so that the motel's mattress squeak would not give away his intentions. Satisfied, he went to the desk and opened the laptop. He checked to make sure the volume was off.

The laptop powered up, and he googled Cassie's name. He needed to look up Cassie's obituary and the fire. He needed knowledge about her last moments. He knew reading he reports of the fire would not change his mind. It was macabre to dwell on her death-to feel a sense of caustic obsession imagining her last moments. But, Dean had to ingrain it all in his memory. There was a fine line between being swallowed by despair and being fed by it to continue forward.

For three days the local newspaper reported on the fire. The first day it was front page news. The second day it was pushed to page four. The third day the world news had forced the reports of the fire and the single death to the fifteenth page. Then there was nothingness.

The obituary was placed before the classifieds-disrespectful of the dead. The dead could not complain and the living that remained were burdened by their grief. Cassie's obituary was one column long stretching to the end of the page. The first statement stated that only her mother remained- a family yet again affected by the supernatural. Then Dean was introduced to the Cassie he never knew. The girl who was captain of her high school field hockey team, recipient of a National Merit Scholarship, and journalist for her college paper. Instead of sharing the past experiences with him, he was reading about the Cassie he didn't get a chance to know.

Dean glanced back to check his younger brother. Sam was still sleeping soundly.

Her picture was above the obituary. Dean copied the photo onto to the laptop's desktop. He looked up the local Walgreen's website, and sent the photo to be picked up by him in the morning. He cleared the cache and the history of the web browser. He placed the photo in the recycle bin, and then emptied the trash. He didn't want Sam inadvertently discovering Cassie's death. Hesitantly, he closed the web browser, and felt the aching of the finality of it all. He stared at the computer, and hit 'Shutdown.' Then he slumped, exhaustion filling him. A black and white, four by six photo would be the only evidence that Cassie had been a part of Dean's universe.

Dean pushed himself up, and crept back into bed. The rough sheet grated against his skin. It was still dark out, and things always looked darkest before the dawn. Sadly, though Dean knew that the daylight would not change the fact that Cassie was gone.

--

_Additional notes: Dumas is a real town in Texas where there was a death of a high school student. And, I found out afterwards that the teams are really called Demons and Demonettes. The Outlaws are a motorcycle gang and 1 refers to the percentage of those who own motorcycles who are in a gang.Yes, Walgreens does offer that photo service I describe._

TBC--from Italy :)


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews. I am experimenting with this fic. This portion is from Sam's point of view. It also has lots of 'thought' though there is an action sequence coming. _

Part 2

Sam turned over when he heard the sound of the shower in the bathroom right next to his bed. He blinked, bleary eyed, and looked at the digital clock, focusing on its red glowing number-6:00. Sam took in a breath and closed his eyes again. It was too early to be awake; in a few more hours he would be ready to start the day.

Dean had zoned out early-early to bed, early to rise. But, six to seven hours of continuous sleep were beckoning, and Sam hadn't met his quota yet. He gripped the scratchy sheets to him once again.

Two hours later it was time to awaken. He opened his eyes, and covered them for a moment to adjust to the light streaming through the blinds. It was in that light that Sam saw Jess. The rods and cones of his eyes made her a static-like figure. Then one, two blinks and she was gone.

Perhaps her visage had been engrained in his eyes. Six hundred mornings of waking up beside her left an impression. Maybe it was the dust, kicked up in the room and the particles were dancing on the light. Either way, when it happened it lingered with him.

She was not there. He swung his legs over, and with his mind still vacant he went into the bathroom. It was the warm shower water that resumed his thinking once more, greeting him into the day.

Dean was still out. Sam saw the evidence of a long hot shower, and a shave. Accordingly, the younger Winchester calculated his brother would return soon with breakfast. Breakfast would be six donuts-two honeydew, two powered, and two chocolate. Dean was consistent in the variety he chose. It was dependable, like the large coffees that would accompany the donuts.

In the meantime, Sam wanted to do some research and decide on a plan of action. With a towel around his waist, he came into the room and turned on the computer. While the laptop brought up the desktop screen he dressed.

He brought the laptop to the bed, and placed his pillows, plus one of Dean's behind him for comfort. There was also a phone jack near the bed, which made internet access easier. The desk chair just didn't look as comfortable.

Sam typed in happy to see the legal website, and even happier that his ID and password still gained him access. He had fallen through the cracks and no one had removed his name. It made him still have a connection to his education. Sure a few thousand people had access to lexis, but it was still nice to be one of the few.

Forty minutes later, when Dean walked in, Sam had formulated a plan. "Hey," he greeted his brother, who was balancing two coffees in a tray and a bag. Dean tossed the paper sack to him. Surprised, Sam found three bagels, cream cheese, a few napkins and a plastic knife. Dean popped the large coffee out of the tray, and placed it on the nightstand. He threw the tray away and sat on the other bed cradling the Styrofoam cup in his hands.

Sam pushed the laptop aside, and cut into the cinnamon raisin bagel, spreading a generous amount of cream cheese on one side, and then placed the other half on top. He gestured to Dean, to offer him a bagel, but got a waved reply. "I'm all set."

Sam glanced at his brother, taking in his appearance. Dean had that look of him-when someone was tired, but there was cleanliness about them that they hoped would mask the exhaustion. Dean cleared his throat. "Are you ready for school?"

Sam grinned, finishing the bagel and contemplating having another one, the wheat one looked tempting. "Yeah, I was thinking asbestos."

Dean shook his head, puzzled by his brother's comment. "The carcinogen?"

"Exactly," There were times like this, when Dean would use words that revealed his intelligence level. When they were growing up, Sam remembered thinking that Dean was smart, but then Sam started to understand that an education was his ticket to normalcy, and he stopped paying attention to Dean's academics. He wondered how well his brother had done in school.

"Do I win anything?" The older hunter asked, as he took another gulp of coffee. He had removed the plastic protective lid for easy access.

"Yes," Sam was hesitant. He decided on the wheat bagel and bit in, not adding any cream cheese. He chewed slowly. "I figure we could use those uniforms from Chicago. . ." He had said it-Chicago, the beginning of the end for them. Dean's emotions had leaked out. Sam had seen their father for the first time. Meg had revealed herself. They had all been propelled forward, and so much had changed.

Dean gave a nod, and looked down into his coffee. He swirled the remnants of the cup, then brought it to his lips and finished off the last gulp. He returned the lid to the Styrofoam cup and tossed it for a three-point shot in the waste basket. "Well, at least we're using them again."

"We're nothing if not economical," Sam replied, closing up the laptop, and pushing the paper bag with the remaining bagel away.

They pulled on the overalls in the car before walking into Dumas High School. A few cars were parked outside, signaling to the boys that people were milling about the building.

They walked down the hallway, painted red with a white linoleum floor. Paper signs littered the walls proclaiming the "Demon Spirit." Sam looked at the signs disgusted that after what demons had put them through that anyone should be allowed to herald them. It was sacrilegious-a demon had taken Mom, Jess, and so much from them. "That's just fcked isn't it?"

Dean grinned back at his brother, knowingly. Sam was surprised that his brother hadn't taken down one of the signs, _accidentally_ on _purpose._ Dean was the bold one. But, there was still time. "Office," he stated.

There was a secretary in the foyer, typing away at her computer. She stopped when she saw them. "Can I help you?"

Sam quickly glanced the nameplate on the principal's door. "We're here to see, Mr. Wafferian. We're the asbestos inspectors." Sam's research had led him to discover that the school board was accepting bids from companies to remove asbestos from the schools. It was the perfect cover, which would give them privileged access to the school.

"One moment," The receptionist replied. She pressed the intercom button and spoke loudly into it. "Jeff? Two men from the asbestos company are here."

They watched the closed door with the sign that said, 'Principal's Office.' Sam started to bite his lip, until Dean elbowed him. The younger Winchester was nervous as he remembered their father's words from childhood. 'Don't get into any trouble. If I ever have to come to the principal's office. . .'

The door opened, and Sam knew he winced. The principal was not a formidable man-he was about 5'6" and rail thin. There was nothing to fear. Sam thanked all the gods and lesser gods that he knew that Dean was not able to read his mind. His brother would have tortured him with embarrassment.

"I called Lloyd, the janitor, and he'll be here in a minute." The thin man came out to shake their hands. "The superintendent told us to expect you, but you're the first-guess you want to get a jump on the competition." The principal gestured to his office. "Why don't you come in and sit down?"

"No, umm, no, thank you." Sam backed away. He tried to smile to lessen his obviously uncomfortable reaction. "Don't want to sit down since we just would have to get up again." The excuse sounded lame to his ears. The educator could probably tell that Sam had some kind of strange phobia.

"He has sciatica." Dean said, grabbing Sam's arm and steering him. "Thank you though. We'll just wait outside for Lloyd." Dean ushered his brother out the door.

Sam wanted to say something, and opened his mouth, but Dean silenced him. "Dude, chill. You're twenty-three; the principal can not hurt you. I'd say you could hurt him."

"What are you talking about?" Sam turned to study one of the walls in order to cover up his reaction. He was saved from any further conservation by the janitor.

Lloyd, the janitor, shuffled down the hall. He had dark hair, mixed with gray in a crew cut style. Pudgy face and overalls covered a soft, overweight body. There was no greeting just a, "Come on."

Sam looked at Dean who shrugged his shoulders and followed along. "We'd like to start at the top."

The janitor replied with a sigh.

Sam glanced at the hallway. It was funny how small everything seemed. He knew he was tall, even freakishly tall, but while in high school every school seemed so big-it was the whole small insignificant person in a big pond. Pictures of the graduating class were posted on the bulletin board in the stairwell. One of the girls stood out. She looked like Jess- blonde hair, wearing a cheerleading outfit. Jess had told Sam she had been a cheerleader. The image from this morning superimposed itself on the picture, lingering as he knew it would. He heard his brother clearing his throat to get his attention.

Dean waited patiently as Lloyd ambled ahead. Sam caught up, taking the six steps two by two so that he was on the landing with his brother. "Nothing," Sam said before Dean could ask him a question.

They made it to the fourth floor, and it was evident that Lloyd was an inconvenience.

"If you have something else to do…" Sam started, figuring he could ease the janitor along instead of babysitting two so-called asbestos inspectors.

Dean was blunt. "We're going to be awhile - work through lunch." His older brother knew those were the magic words because the janitor took a few steps back.

Lloyd smacked his lips, and glanced at the stairs. "Well, if you need me just go to the office."

"Will do," Dean gave a jaunty salute as they both watched the janitor move faster than the pace he had kept to get them to the top floor. "Thought he'd never leave."

Sam grinned. He placed the duffle bag with their tools on the floor by the water fountain. "Probably wanted to break into the exciting word of asbestos."

Dean crouched down and unzipped his bag, finding the EMF detector. They walked down the hallway, watching the EMF detector intently. The air conditioner was humming, bringing a cool breeze to the hallway, but talking could be distinctly heard. Dean shook his head, and pointed to the shut door further ahead. "Summer classes—that just sucks."

They walked over to the door, looking through the window. Sam could see on the board were algebraic equations. "Well in the end, it will work out for them." The younger Winchester hadn't gone to summer school. Summer was spent hunting, but he would have gone if it meant he would have gained freedom sooner from the hunt. Funny, that life came full circle and he was back in a place that had opened his mind up to the possibilities, only to be caught in the same web.

Dean rolled his eyes. School had been important to the older Winchester brother, but it wasn't a ticket to freedom or hope. "Yeah, I'm sure they will look back on this summer as _real_ fun." The older Winchester gestured to the EMF detector. "It's slight, but there's something."

They continued to work their way down the high school, investigating each floor. The readings were consistent, and there had been some spots that had affected the EMF detector more.

They stopped on the second floor men's bathroom. "What does this mean?" Sam asked, knowing that usually they would have a distinct location for the ghost. His brother didn't reply being otherwise occupied.

Dean studied the bathroom walls, shaking his head.

Sam snapped his fingers to get his brother's attention, disgusted his brother could think about sex, women actually, girls, at this time. "You want a pen to take down some phone numbers?'

"Jail bait," Dean murmured and studied a writing a little more closely. "Just some of this stuff…you know, I wonder what the girl's bathroom is like?" Dean followed his thoughts out the door. Sam kept up, but stopped as he saw his brother push open the door across the hall.

"We are not seriously going into the girl's bathroom?" Sam watched as his brother entered the women's room. He hesitated. However, there was no threat of being caught, so Sam entered and was surprised that other than not having urinals it was the same as the men's room. "Back to my original question — we've gone through this place, and something is going on . . . but what?" He asked his brother.

"Christy 'n Shane," Dean had his finger to a spot on the wall. "With a heart around it." His older brother cocked his head to the side. Sam thought he saw a flicker of emotion cross his brother's face, but then it was gone. "Touching," Dean said and turned around to face his brother. "We need some more information about Christy."

Sam believed they had been prepared for this job. The students provided the lead that brought them to the high school, but perhaps they were missing some sort of connection. He analyzed the situation. It was applying logic, and research that led him to desire a legal education. Contrary to what most people thought—being a lawyer wasn't about arguing or debating. Logically, they needed to start at the beginning. "There's always the message board."

TBC—thank you for reading and reviewing!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I would like to thank Ridley well first of all for writing WWJD and secondly for holding my hand through this fic that I have been unsure about. I just want to balance the angst, action and humor to make it a reading pleasure. Thank you for reading and reveiwing!

Part 3

Before leaving the high school, the Winchester brothers stopped at the office. Sam waited for Dean outside. The elder brother suppressed a chuckle. The younger hunter could be so straight-laced sometimes, especially when it came to authority figures. However, he did not give the same respect to their ultimate authority figure—John Winchester. If Sam had spoken to every principal, teacher or guidance counselor as he spoke to their father. . .Dean let the thought trail off, like so many in the last two days. He would never be able to change the past. There was no use in dwelling on it.

The secretary was on the phone on what seemed to be a personal call since she looked at Dean guiltily. The older Winchester brother flashed a smile of understanding. She placed the call on hold. She gave him her undivided attention. "Hi, we're all set for our preliminary report. We may need to come back later if that's okay?"

She had her finger on the hold button ready to resume her conversation. "Sure, I'll tell Jeff." She placed the phone to her ear once more, and covered the mouth piece as she called out to Dean. "Have a nice day!"

Sam was seated in the passenger seat. It was the seat which Dean had explained was familiar with Sam's ass. "Principal said to tell you that you have detention tomorrow."

The younger hunter didn't reply, seemingly lost in thought. Thoughts could be consuming, filled with 'what if', 'should of' and Dean's personal favorite of 'if I only.' This cemented Dean's decision. He would not tell Sam about Cassie. His brother would somehow try to absorb the guilt that was solely his.

"Hey, I figure we could use the library's computer and then get some lunch?" Dean suggested as he pulled away from curb side parking space across from the school.

Sam's reverie was broken and he turned to Dean. "Sounds like a plan."

Dean agreed with Sam on the fact that he liked the architecture of old libraries versus those built circa 1960s. The cinder block construction lacked history. He would never admit that to his brother of course. While Sam posted on the message board, Dean researched the high school itself.

There were times when a building harbored spirits. There was the possibility of the site being a burial ground or mysterious deaths during construction. The school was relatively new, built in 1975 with federal funds and a state bond. The land was owned by the city, and had remained unused until it was decided that it would be a perfect place for a new high school. The structure that had been used as a high school was now a city administrative building used by the Department of Public Works. All in all it was a dead end. Dean returned the books and materials to the circulation desk. Sam was seated at the computer area.

He whispered loudly into his brother's ear, "Getting in touch with your inner fourteen year old girl?" Dean sat next to his brother at the available chair.

"Shut up." Sam smirked and closed down the window on the computer screen. It was better when Sam was feisty. They both could not be in the doldrums at the same time. One always had to bolster the other.

"I noticed a diner across the street. Figured some lunch and then we could see if there was a reply to Samantha." Dean suggested, knowing his brother would agree. He got up from the chair and started for the exit.

Sam entered the diner first. Another patron was leaving, so Dean held open the door for her and her little girl. He stared after her. There was something familiar. It was her scent. She smelled like Cassie.

It was during those first two weeks they were together. He had showered at her place, and had forgotten his shirt in the bedroom. He caught her smelling his shirt. Usually, Cassie was brazen, but she blushed upon being discovered.

"What are you doing?" He asked, laughing at her.

She shrugged her shoulders and handed him back the shirt. "I like the way you smell."

He had thought it odd, until now, and wished he had something other than a photo. He needed something with her lingering scent.

"Dean?" Sam interrupted his thoughts. He automatically must have followed Sam inside and taken a seat across from his brother. The menu lay open in front of him. He hated when he did things on auto-pilot. "I'll have a coffee and the chicken sandwich." He stated to the waitress. He closed the menu and pushed it away. He had wanted a Coke with lots of ice and a hamburger. It was hot outside, and a coffee was not going to cool him down. And the chicken sandwich? It was probably grilled instead of deep fried. Dean would be punished for not paying attention with an unsatisfying meal. "I checked out the school-and there's no supernatural connection to the building or the land."

"I still think it's Christy. We're just missing something." Sam toyed with the paper placemat, folding over its edges. "Did you check Dad's journal?"

Dean nodded, drinking the water the waitress had brought as an appetizer for a meal that was going to be lackluster. "Nothing about haunted high schools."

"Here comes our food." Sam commented, trying to iron out the paper mat. The waitress was bringing over one tray. It was not heavily laden with food.

"Chicken Cesar Salad," she slipped the plate in front of the younger Winchester. Dean snorted at his brother's choice. "Fried Chicken Strip Sandwich," she said to Dean as she placed the food on the table.

"Thank God," Dean sighed seeing the only vegetable on the plate was a dill pickle and the lettuce, tomato and onion stacked on the sandwich.

"What?" Sam asked, not understanding what his brother had said.

Dean smiled and bit into the pickle with gusto, glad lunch was not going to be a disappointment. "Looks good." There was companionable silence between the two brothers, each lost in their thoughts. Dean remembered his priority was his brother, not his misery. "Back at the school you spaced out. . ." He didn't feel comfortable breaching the subject. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Sam looked up from his salad. Dean saw the uncertainty in his brother's eyes and knew he had to press further. The older hunter was an expert in pushing down his emotions and letting his subconscious work on the issues. His brother needed to talk out his problems. "Was it a vision?"

Sam shook his head, and tentatively took bite of one of the chicken slices.

Dean rubbed his chin, and thought about where Sam had stopped. It was in front of some candid photos of the graduating class. "One of those pictures reminds you of Jess?"

Sam visibly swallowed and placed his fork down. He placed both hands on the placemat in attempt not to fidget. "Yeah, I guess."

Dean gave a quick nod. He wondered if he was as easy to read, probably not since Sam hadn't noticed that his older brother was drowning in suppressed grief. He needed to acknowledge Sam's feelings, and not allow him to wallow in any guilt. "It's all good, Sammy." He kept in direct eye contact with his brother. "You don't need to forget Jessica. I never meant that when I said you needed to move on." Dean believed what he was saying, and substituted the name Jessica for Cassie. "She's just going to be there sometimes just below the surface and sometimes down deep." The older hunter cleared his throat, a lump had formed and he couldn't say anything further. He bit into his sandwich.

Sam picked up his fork and shook his head with a smile on his face. Dean knew he helped his brother, and possibly himself. They finished their lunch with Dean leaving a hefty tip because he ended up with the right meal, even with the coffee.

Instead of returning to the library they decided to return to the hotel and see if someone had a wireless network in the area they could hijack.

Sam clicked the left button on the laptop in quick succession. "The motel office has an unsecured network."

Dean clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Well that's getting the most bang for the buck."

"Don't you mean that Paul Stanley is getting his money's worth?" Sam commented and he went to the school's website.

"Whatever," Dean waved away the remark with his hand. He had chosen the KISS guitarist on his latest batch of credit card fraud. His brother never participated in the application process so not to possibly sully his record and therefore never be able to sit for the Bar exam in any state. Sam was unwilling to lose his dream of one day becoming a lawyer. He peered over his brother's shoulder. "What did they say?"

Sam summarized the postings. "Christy was well liked- normal parents, still together, into sports, she was at volleyball practice and never came back home."

"So she's not pulling a Carrie?" Even though Christy had been popular, there was always the chance she was a maladjusted teen. "Did she have a boyfriend?" Dean recalled the graffiti in the bathroom and wanted confirmation it was the same Christy.

"Yeah, it was Shane." Dean watched as Sam read the comments on the web board. He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Guess he took it hard."

"Young love-so who is he with now?" The older hunter knew his brother would find the comment insensitive, further evidence Dean's feelings didn't run deep. But, it hit too close with Cassie's picture in his back pocket, folded and frozen in place in a moment in time. He ached. He was tired. "It is what it is."

"What?" Sam stared intently at the laptop, and hadn't noticed the comment.

"So why is she menacing those students?" Dean replied and then added, "What if it isn't Christy?" It had happened before. They had been misguided, even stubborn in their beliefs forgetting their best asset was flexibility and improvisation.

The younger Winchester shook his head. "It's Christy trying to tell us something."

Dean trusted his brother, whether it was his shining, a feeling or luck, if Sam felt it was Christy then the older Winchester would follow.

"We need to go back to the school." Dean decided because as much as he trusted Sam's psychic powers, they still left Dean without any control. By making the decision, Dean retained some power.

"Tonight?" The younger hunter questioned, closing the laptop.

Dean nodded, "Tonight."

The Winchester brothers waited until the small Texas town was suffocated with darkness. A forced afternoon nap and they were refreshed, ready to conquer the night.

There was no fence around the perimeter of the school. The school was secured with chains roped through the doors and a heavy lock. Reconnaissance around the building led to one door having a padlock, but no other lock on the door itself. It was also away from the street, hidden from any passersby.

Dean pulled out his pick. He heard the satisfying click that released that granted them access.

Sam removed the lock, and worked the chain out. Its rattling noise punctuated the quiet night. He coiled it and carried it inside, leaving it by the door. They were a precision team. Taught by their military father, the whole ordeal took less than 5 minutes.

They lit up the hallways with their flashlights, but there were emergency lights scattered throughout. The smell assaulted Dean first. There was an antiseptic smell of cleaning solution punctuated by a sweet odor. The older Winchester didn't know if it was teen hormones, or the lockers giving off some sort scent of remnants of their owners.

Dean twisted his wrist, making a circular pattern with the glow of the flashlight.

"Quit it!" Sam said, making an 'X' symbol with his light over the older hunter's circle.

The blond hunter chuckled at his own silliness. He understood the gravitas of the situation, but when he saw a place during the day and then saw it again at night the effect was disconcerting. The flashlight had provided a diversion. In the day the school seemed alive, at night the dimly lit hallways were menacing. The only comfort was the obvious—in a vacant building the two brothers didn't have to whisper, they could talk in a normal tone of voice.

"So should we start with the gym?" Dean gestured to the hallway that would take them there.

"We should check her locker too." Sam flashed the light on a bank of lockers. "Christy's locker was 214." The locker numbers on the first floor began with the number '1.' Christy's locker was on the second floor.

The gym was ahead. The brothers pushed the swinging doors open and they violently swatted back at them. The force swept the twosome off their feet and leveled them awkwardly to the floor.

"What the hell?" Dean pushed himself to his knees. His brother followed suit. The older hunter circled the younger. He was prepared to defend an attack from the unseen foe.

The red and white locker doors opened and closed, clapping at them. It was a dizzying effect, and the colors seemed to swirl together.

The doors to the gym would not allow them entry as they kept swinging back and forth, warning them off.

They were trapped, but they held their ground until the sign proclaiming 'Demon Spirit' came toward them, undulating back and forth as it made its way down the hall.

"I hate that sign," Sam yelled out over the commotion caused by the cacophony of the lockers.

Dean did not want to be tempted into action. But, the floor throbbed with vibration of the noise, beckoning a reaction. The older Winchester lifted the rock salt rifle, his bare arms extended and he fired.

"There's nothing to shoot!" His brother said as he aimed at the banner, freckling it with little holes.

"Shoot first, ask questions later." Dean blasted again, and proceeded down the hall towards the exit, until he felt his foot being grabbed.

He stomped his right foot, trying to shake off the curling fingers. Sam was doing the same dance without success as the brothers were lifted in the air. Dean held firm to his rifle. He fired again, and the tendrils clamped down on his ankle shaking him side to side so that he was forced into Sam, who grunted at the additional attack. The older hunter was dissuaded from using the rifle again until a better opportunity arose.

They went through another set of doors, which were held open to allow them to pass through without being kicked by the solid object. However, their bodies were manhandled as they were dragged along the smooth linoleum until they reached the stairs.

"No fucking way!" Dean exclaimed. He had remained complacent for the 2 minutes it took to go down the hall, but neither him nor Sam were going to be dragged down the stairs and face a concussion or worse.

The force that held them in its grip had some sort of revelation because it halted. Their feet were dropped with a thud to the ground. Gingerly, they stood up back in control of their bodies. Dean shook out his leg, and rotated the ankle, feeling the soreness setting in.

"That is not going to be a ride at Disney World any time soon." Dean stated as he glanced at his brother, reassuring himself that Sam was not injured. "What?" He asked as the younger Winchester met his gaze.

"She wants us to go down." Sam ran his hands through his hair, removing the grime he picked up as he had been dragged along.

Dean peered down the stairs. He did not like being led on a chase. "Hell, if I am going to give into her after all that."

Sam moved down a step, challenging his brother with a smirk to follow. "She's angry and she wants something. . ."

The blond hunter shrugged. He always gave into women, those with pretty faces and he guessed angry types too. Sam had called Cassie fearless. It was a trait that drove him crazy, and made him proud.

"Lead on," Dean gestured to his brother, bringing the rifle to a level of preparedness. Dean had no idea what was awaiting them.

TBC

(sorry about the cliffhanger)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Well, I am posting a day early because Ridley posted too. Thank you to Ridley for being my consultant in this fic when I thought it was going over the top and she assured me it wasnt. Finally, we get to the part where the readers can see the relevance of the title-- everyone has a beloved G ANd thank you for the reviews! They are an ego boost when I need it the most.

Part 4

Sam and Dean descended the stairs in silence. The emergency light from the stairwell became dimmer as they reached the basement. A locked metal door greeted them. Sam crouched down; shifting to the side so the remaining light would be enough to pick the lock. He smiled as the door opened. Dean stepped in first, glancing to the left and right before allowing enough room for the younger Winchester to join him.

"So which way?" The older hunter asked.

Sam nodded, understanding he was the one who was going to provide guidance. He smelled the dirt and dampness of the basement. It was cool, even with the heat outside and the air conditioning not reaching the underground depths. He could not explain to his brother that he didn't know what direction they should take. He took in a deep breath and let it out. He exposed his senses, hoped for the best and expected embarrassing failure, "Right."

Quietly they crept through the humming basement. It was an open floor plan with some rooms crudely constructed with two by fours and chicken wire, providing storage space. They followed along with their flashlights as the only light, until they illuminated a solid wall with a door.

Dean twisted the door knob, and it came ajar. Sam stepped to the side, flat against the wall. The younger hunter peered in. "Clear," Sam stated, finding no evidence of any person in the little room.

There was a string hanging down the center of the room. Sam pulled on it, and the bare light bulb lit the enclosed area. The brothers scanned the area. There was a desk made from two saw horses and a piece of plywood. A rickety black office chair was tucked underneath.

"Sam?" Dean called out to get his brother's attention. His hand rested against the wall. "It's a freakin' shrine."

A myriad of pictures-some color, and others black and white littered all four walls. They were layered on top of each other. Some were full pictures, some were just of head shots, but all were of one single person-Christy Kenney.

"Stalker," Sam swallowed the word and all its meanings. The shrine made it tangible. The younger Winchester acknowledged each photo. For a fleeting moment Sam wanted some sort of memoriam to Jess. His stomach turned because he knew it was wrong to worship her. She would always be his ideal. Being interested in Sarah was acceptable because she was different than Jessica. She was a brunette and more conservative where Jessica had been a vibrant blonde. It sickened him, because inadvertently he had created a shrine for his dead girlfriend for self protection. He shook his head, and focused on his brother. Dean was attacking the pictures, taking each down and tossing them to the ground.

His brother turned around, with a photo in his hand. The older hunter loosened his grip on it, so that it fluttered to the floor. He looked haunted, and turned his back to Sam, but did not remove another photo. The younger hunter couldn't understand his brother's layers. The surface Dean was the one he knew best. The other layers scared him because it meant at some level the two brothers were the same. "Some of these pictures . . . He was watching her in the showers. . . She was 16 years old." Dean said softly.

Sam felt angry. Christy Kenny was someone's daughter or sister, and she required a certain amount of respect, never a sick man's obsession. "We should call the cops."

"No," the older hunter faced his brother. He clenched the rifle.

Sam had thought they had decided the police were better equipped to deal with live human beings, especially after their last incident. They had walked away from the Bender family with the help of the local deputy. "Dean, we're not vigilantes."

"She wants a little more justice." Dean stated. Sam noticed he didn't directly look at the pictures.

'You know that?" The younger hunter raised his voice in aggravation. "Cause I was thinking she wanted someone to know the truth." Sam pointed a finger to his head. He reminded his brother _he_ was the one with the psychic ability.

Dean didn't answer. His mouth formed a thin line of perseverance. "How are we going to explain how we found this?" The older Winchester gestured with his hand to the walls. "Like they say in CSI – 'we need a link.' You need to put the janitor with the evidence."

Sam exhaled. Dean had used logic, and pop culture and he was right. "Fine, but we do this my way." The younger Winchester rubbed his chin, formulating a plan to bring the stalker to the attention of the police.

The brothers pulled the string, and again were in darkness. Using the flashlights they made their way out of the school. Dean chained and locked the door, patting the door two times. The younger hunter knew his brother was making a promise to the fallen girl.

The Impala was silent, Judas Priest's Victim of Changes playing on the speakers helped Sam to think. Simple plans worked best. "Okay, I have an idea."

By the time they entered the motel Sam had relayed his plan to Dean.

"Sounds good," Dean concluded and went into the bathroom.

The youngest Winchester didn't know if his brother was being complacent or not. He hated when he couldn't trust Dean. Part of him knew that there was no one else to trust, but there was also the loose cannon factor. Sam had it, like when he wanted to charge ahead and search for their father on his own.

Sam was tenacious, and lacked patience. He wanted to give Jess a ring, even though he had graduate school ahead of him. He had wanted it all. Rather than tenacity it may have been desperation. He probably reeked of the need to fit in. What had Dean said earlier? Sometimes feelings were on the surface and other times they were deep. These feelings ran deep.

The bathroom door opened. "Your turn." Dean announced as he flopped on to the bed.

"Man, I just. . ." Sam gathered his thoughts. "We'll get this guy."

Dean reached for the remote control. "Sure we will, Sammy."

While Sam showered he had this overwhelming sense that his brother was hiding something. He dried off, holding on to the thought, but it would have to wait since Dean was asleep, and the next morning the thought was forgotten as the young hunter squinted against the morning's bright light.

He sipped the lukewarm coffee. Dean had used the coffee maker in the motel, which made a barely palatable morning drink. But, they wanted to be to the school early, right after the day started. "So we're all set?"

His older brother rolled his eyes, and opened the door to the Impala. Sam stepped into the passenger seat, placing a newspaper from the vending machine on the dash. "Why are you bringing a bag of weapons?" The younger sibling hadn't missed the fact that Dean placed a duffle in the backseat.

Dean grinned. "I'm just hoping he puts up a fight. A boy can dream can't he?"

Sam shook his head in response.

The brothers used the side entrance, avoiding the office. The halls were quiet. Class was in session, and the staff was in the administrative center. Lloyd just required time. Eventually, he would return to his private room, and they would be ready.

As they walked they grabbed the three plastic trash cans in the hallway. Sam carried two, and placed the newspaper inside. Dean carried one. They descended the stairs, again opening the door, leading into the basement and propped it open with one of the barrels.

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans. They walked twenty feet into the basement and left a trash barrel there, another twenty feet they were by the door of Lloyd's private room. Sam felt the sticky residue from the plastic garbage cans on his hands. He emulated his brother and rubbed his palms on his pants.

Each brother took a stance by the door frame. Dean reached the knob and pushed it open wide. They rushed in; shocked that Lloyd was in the room as if waiting for them. The older Winchester reacted first, unleashing the pent up hostility for the janitor in a swift side kick to the solar plexus.

The janitor never stood a chance. Sam followed his brother's attack with a satisfying backfist, and Lloyd landed hard against the desk. He slumped down. Each hunter grabbed an arm, and deposited him in the chair. Sam kept a restraining hand on the man's chest while Dean secured him with duct tape.

The younger Winchester studied the fallen man. In their fallibility they didn't recognize this man as a threat. The janitor had been so innocuous, so insignificant until now. Sam felt he should have instinctively known Lloyd was evil. His facial features were what Sam thought a stalker should be. Previously normal characteristics were sinister-beady eyes, and a feral smile. Presently, the janitor was pathetic, with a little trail of blood coming down from his split lip courtesy of Sam.

Dean bound the wrists to each other, forcefully ripping the tape which gave off a caustic smell. The ankles were next then the arms were attached to the torso. Lastly, Dean took an inch strip of the silver tape, but held off placing it over Lloyd's mouth.

Sam removed his hand from the janitor's chest, and stood next to his brother. Their father had taught them interrogation techniques. If a perpetrator looked up and to the left that meant they were accessing true memories. If the person looked up and to the right they were using their creative side, and inventing falsehoods. The older Winchester brother had excelled in reading people. "Nice place you got here." Sam commented. He was surprised the janitor had not screamed for assistance. He was calm or maybe in shock by the whole ordeal, either way they would use it to their advantage. "Great décor." The younger hunter stated, as he pulled at the nearest picture and flung it at the seated janitor. "She's very photogenic."

"Who? How did . . ." Lloyd glanced back and forth to each brother, unable to meet either in the eye.

Dean placed his finger on the janitor's chest, poking hard to enunciate his diatribe. "You watched her grow up in this school, and thought that she could be yours. And finally, it dawned on you that she was never going to be yours. So you murdered her. You murdered a sixteen year old girl. You are one sick bastard." The older Winchester's eyes blazed with ferocity.

"No!" The janitor yelled and tried to stand.

Sam pushed him back down with a hard shove. "She didn't even know you existed." The younger hunter snorted with disgust. Lloyd almost succeeded in receiving no punishment, and maybe fate had brought them to Dumas to right the wrong. "You're going to jail for a _very_ long time."

Before the janitor had a chance to reply, Dean placed the duct tape over his mouth, suffocating any words on Lloyd's lips. "Go ahead Sam and pull the alarm." Dean prompted with a jerk of his chin.

"Dean…" Sam warned, knowing his brother too well. The older hunter looked dangerous and ready to pounce. Most hunts were not personal and Dean was relaxed during those hunts. Sam guessed because their training made them react instinctively. His brother was not relaxed now. His body was taunt with control.

"We'll be fine." The older hunter stepped away from the janitor to show he would not hit him.

Sam nodded. He hoped Dean would restrain himself and leave something for the police to arrest. Aggression could be satisfying, but it also seeped into the soul over time, leaving bitterness in its wake. Sam never wanted Dean to be bitter.

He jogged the path back to the first floor. The red alarm was in the hallway, and he pulled hard, not waiting to hear it click into action.

He ran down the stairs, fishing the lighter from his jean pocket. The newspaper lay on top of the garbage where he had placed it. He pulled a third away and crumpled it, lighting one of the edges. He deposited into the garbage, and went to light the next beacon.

Sam could hear the shuffling in the hallway of action. Students would be shuffling through the exits, glad for the break and patiently waiting for the authorities to come.

As he finished at the second garbage can, Sam heard a distinctive thwack. He ran to the third can, lighting the remaining newspaper and throwing it the garbage that propped open the door to the private room. He came to a halt in front of Dean. His older brother was three feet away from the janitor.

"Roundhouse kick?" Sam asked after surveying the mark on Lloyd's face and the glare he gave the older Winchester.

Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"We're done here, someone will find him soon." The younger hunter said. They needed to leave the premises. Lloyd would soon have his day of reckoning.

Sam followed his brother out the door. Dean turned around not to give the janitor a second look, but directly at Sam. "We still have to finish this, Sammy."

TBC

I know another cliffhanger...please review!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A day early, and looks like this will be ending this week. Thank you for the reviews--they really make writing a joy. Since this has been such an angst fest, my next one will involve humor, and Ridley's help.

Part 5

"Keep it neat, Sam." Dean admonished his brother as their shovels made work of the grave. Usually, they were digging out of desperation, trying to find a solution and avert catastrophe. This time they were providing peace.

Dean remembered being ten years old and asking Pastor Jim why everyone just didn't get cremated.

The question should have been disturbing coming from the mouth of a youngster, but he had already been marked by death. The family friend had patiently educated Dean about the burial rites of common religions.

"This sucks," Sam replied, wiping his forehead and incurring a smudge of dirt for his effort. Opening graves was the repulsive part of their job. Grave robbers had a connotation of being sick and insane, and the Winchester brothers did not want to be connected to such a depraved act.

Dean had piled the top grass away from their digging. He would return the grave to its previous condition. Christy Kenney was a fresh grave, less than a year. Her cemetery plot had been well tended to and there was evidence of frequent visits. Little mementos and effigies decorated the stone tablet. His mother's grave on the other hand was empty and cold. It was not a reflection on how loved she had been, on how loved she still was in the present.

"Bathroom break," They had dug down three feet. Dean pushed his shovel into the mound of dirt they had created.

"Now?" Sam questioned with a snort.

"Yes, now," Dean said peevishly. He did not like to be questioned about his bodily functions. Sam could continue on for a few minutes. This was after all part of their job description. Demons existed. Sam, Dean and a few others knew that bones needed to be salted and burned so that they did not rise as a nasty spirit.

He walked calmly through the graveyard, weaving through the cemetery markers, being careful to show respect to the dead and not trample their graves. Surrounding the cemetery was some bordering woods, the solitude of the greenery providing comfort for the mourners.

He charged in, away from Sam's eyes. A few feet in he stopped, rested his hands on his knees, and he threw up. Dean spit a couple of times, clearing the bile in his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, calming himself with a low growl.

Cassie had power over him in death, more than in life. A memory was more insidious. It brought up the passion inside of him. He didn't want to call it 'love.' Love was sacred. It had been reserved for his mother.

"I love you, Mommy."

Dean didn't recall saying it to anyone else. Not John Winchester, and not to Sam since he was about 4 or 5. No one had said it to him and had meant it.

"Get a fckin' grip, Dean." He whispered harshly, gripping his hair within his fists in frustration. He didn't want to see the body of the young girl. He knew he couldn't avoid it without raising his brother's suspicion.

"Arrr," He made a throaty noise of aggravation. Cassie wasn't lying in her coffin. He knew why Sam could not find peace with Jessica. It was because she had no resting place.

He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and looked up to the shadows of the tall trees. He exhaled the breath he had been holding, motivating himself to return to help Sam. Dean placed one foot in front of the other and began the walk back.

Long ago Dean knew he had sacrificed a bit of his sanity to live in the supernatural world. He pretended that everything was fine. He would pretend now. He made some noise so his brother would be aware of his approach.

"Good timing," Sam was in the cemetery plot, and tapped the shovel against a hard surface. A hollow sound reverberated through the night. He had reached the coffin.

Dean set his mouth in a grim line. "Let's open it up." He pulled his shovel from the mound of dirt, angling it under the rim just like his brother. They forced open the wood lid.

Both Winchester men averted their eyes, catching each other having the same reaction. Dean cleared his throat. "I'll get the salt." He sprinkled the crystals over the body, trying hard not to study the decomposing form. She was still intact, still sleeping eternally surrounded by remembrances of her time on earth. Christy was dressed in a pink fluffy prom gown, a small stuffed volleyball by her hand, a team picture, and some folded letters.

Sam stood near him and squirted the kerosene. The younger Winchester fished out a matchbook. With a snap, he struck a match and lit the whole book, dropping it in the coffin.

The flames ate at the satin lining; the heat flamed up at them before continuing its slow burn. Dean didn't know how long they both stood sentinel over the grave. The flames had died down, and quickly he closed the coffin and tried to shake the disgust he felt.

The brothers worked in precision, and it took less time to bury the coffin than to unearth it. Once completed, Dean placed the chopped up lawn on top.

"Dean, it's good enough." Sam said, holding both the shovels.

It would never be good enough, Dean thought, but followed his brother to the Impala. Morning would come all too soon. The older hunter looked out the car's windshield into a sea of grave markers. "Do you want to leave?" He asked his brother.

Sam sighed loudly, "God, yes." He scratched his scalp, and then looked at the sheen of dirt on his hand, lifting it to show his brother. "But, I want to take a shower too."

Dean nodded. He could make it through one more night in Dumas. "Yeah, a shower would be good. Don't touch anything with those hands." The older Winchester tacked on the warning with a twitch of a smile.

Sam placed his hands on his thighs. The younger hunter's eyes narrowed. "Something going on with you, man?"

"No, I, no," Dean interjected with a frown. He turned the key in the ignition. "We're outta here in the morning."

By nine Dean was packing the car with a purpose. In fact, each thought and action had been for a single-minded reason - to keep his mind occupied and not drift to thoughts of Cassie. Neither Dean nor Sam knew how extensive his 'shining' was, and Dean did not want his thoughts leaking out for his younger brother's viewing pleasure.

"Get a move on," Dean said to his brother, who was folding clothes. "I'll meet you in the car." The older brother glanced at the motel room, making sure they were leaving nothing behind.

"I'm coming," Sam announced, not bothering to zip his duffle. "We're getting some real breakfast-right?"

Dean nodded. They were heading to the unofficial town hall. In Dumas it was the diner that Sam and Dean had eaten lunch at earlier. It was a throwback to the 1950s with its metallic exterior, and red vintage booths. Weekends meant a long wait for a hearty and cheap breakfast with a side order of gossip. But, the weekdays brought a quicker turn around on service.

Dean was determined to place the correct order this time. Nothing would deter him from pancakes, home fries, coffee and orange juice.

A booth became available as soon as they walked in. Immediately, the brothers were enjoying a hot cup of coffee. Sam bowed his head and gestured to an elderly couple behind the older hunter.

The younger Winchester smiled at the stranger. "Town seems to be buzzing today-what's going on?" He said, engaging the elderly man in a moment's conversation.

Dean never understood why people were so forthcoming with information, and willing to talk. But, he thought his brother had a talent for it. Sam was good cop and Dean was the bad cop.

The stranger replied with the latest news. "The police arrested the school janitor for killing one of the high school girls. Man should be shot."

"Wow, glad they caught him." Sam answered, closing the conversation.

The two brothers clinked their coffee mugs together in satisfaction of a job well done. It wasn't often in their line of work.

The waitress came around to take their order. Dean placed his order first, so that he could complete one mission for the day. The waitress turned to the younger hunter,

"Two eggs sunny side up, sausage and wheat toast."

For a moment Dean was tempted to change his mind. But, he held steadfast. He was looking forward to this breakfast. "Sam, you were right."

Sam coughed, and put his mug down. "What? Say it again."

The reaction from his brother made him think twice. He didn't need to build Sam's ego when it came to his brain. The older Winchester shook his head, denying his brother the compliment. "No, forget it."

"Sorry, Dean, please tell me what I was right about?" The young hunter was eager for a flattering remark, and the begging was annoying.

The older hunter hoped he would not regret praising his brother later. "Letting the police handle it." Dean admitted, seeing his brother bask in acceptance, that he was making a worthwhile contribution. "We have our job and they have theirs."

Breakfast came, interrupting Sam's retort. Dean picked up a chunk of potato with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. He grinned at his brother, who slathered a piece of toast with butter. "Course, this being Texas, he'll be dead sooner rather than later." And Dean had to admit he would be satisfied with that result. "So where to?" The breakfast was warming his stomach, and he had a sense of wanderlust mixed with the need to move on, and away from a reminder of Cassie. He never wanted to return to Dumas again, it would be forever attached to her death.

"Missouri," Sam bit into his toast, chewing and swallowing so that he didn't speak with food in his mouth. "There's an antique shop and. . ."

Dean stopped listening after his brother said Missouri. The older hunter remained silent. He knew it was impossible to avoid a whole state, but it was too soon.

"You can stop by and see Cassie." Sam suggested with a wolfish grin.

Her name lingered on the air. The corners of his mouth turned down. Sam noticed the reaction. "I know you love her, man. I don't know why you won't admit it."

Dean stared at his brother, caught in the spell of his words. Sam misinterpreted his brother's lack of response incorrectly. It was a verbal attack. Dean willed himself to have a stony expression, placing a barrier in order to protect his soul.

Sam continued. "You know Jess taught me that having someone in your life makes you stronger, a better man. There's nothing wrong with loving someone and wanting to make a life with her."

And Dean understood. His brother's speech was for his own benefit to allow him to believe a transition into normal life was still available to him. Sam believed that their lives could evolve into normal at some point in the future. Ordinarily, it would have struck Dean as pathetic, but a normal life meant Cassie alive and well.

The older Winchester cleared his throat, trying to get past the lump that had formed. He speared the pancake, and cut into it. "She doesn't live there anymore." He explained and continued to eat his breakfast. He chewed the pancake in his mouth. The taste of the desired breakfast evaporated on his lips.

**TBC in the epilogue.**


	6. Epilogue

At first I was going to have this end with Dean never telling Sam. But, the reviews changed my mind. I hope everyone enjoys the epilogue.

I am sorry to make this a long note. I recently received 2 reviews, and I directly replied to them on the review page. I am of the school of thought that if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all. I find constructive, well thought out criticism helpful. If you are unsure, than instead of a public statement, private message the author.

But, I wanted to say thank you for the warm reviews. They were incredibly kind and helpful. Thank you again and I would love to hear comments on the epilogue. Kudos to you for encouraging writers!

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ABSENCE

Every night I scan

the heavens with my eyes

seeking the star

that you are contemplating.

I question travelers

from the four corners of the earth

hoping to meet one

who has breathed your fragrance

When the wind blows

I make sure it blows in my face:

The breeze might bring me

news of you.

I wander over roads

without aim, without purpose.

Perhaps a song

will sound your name.

Secretly I study

every face I see

hoping against hope

to glimpse a trace of your beauty

Abu Bake al-Turtushi

(1029-1126)

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**Epilogue**

**5 months later**

Dean had pulled over to allow his brother some privacy. The older Winchester knew the phone call was from Sarah. Sam had gotten a silly grin on his face, and was trying to talk in soft tones so that Dean would not overhear the conversation, a difficult task in a car.

They were on a highway in Utah, and the older hunter took the next exit and immediately found a gas station. He stopped the car and gestured for his brother to step out. They didn't need gas, with three quarters of a tank remaining. He pulled over to the side of the station to wait for Sam.

It was a warm fall day. Dean took off his flannel shirt. His t-shirt provided enough comfort. He laid on the hood of the Impala soaking up some sun. The warmth set into his exposed arms first, and then covered his jeans and shirt like a blanket. He allowed himself to drift and relax. He was still alert enough to hear his brother return to the car. "Was that Sarah?" Dean asked enunciating her name in a sing-song. Not receiving a reply, he turned his head to study his brother. "I know it was. You have that goofy look on your face. On the other hand you always have that goofy look on your face." Dean smiled. He enjoyed teasing his brother, if not then seriousness would embody their lives.

"Bitch," Sam huffed. "You're just jealous."

"For phone sex- not so much." Dean pulled himself up to a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the Chevy.

"How much are those 900 numbers? Like $5 a minute?" The younger Winchester raised an eyebrow, throwing the insult out as a challenge for his brother.

Dean rolled his eyes, giving him time to think of retort. "Rigghhtt, whatever you need to believe to make yourself feel like a man." The older hunter looked off into the distance. This was one of those perfect moments—a warm day, a shiny car and sharing the fun with his brother.

Sam laughed, fed by the feeling of camaraderie. "When was the last time _you_ heard from Cassie?"

Dean was stunned. His hand went lightly to his chest as if he had received the jolt of electricity all over again. The wound seeped, reminding him there was still a heaviness of sadness in the recesses of his soul. He probed further, and his heart was sealed up, letting another in would not happen again. There was solace, since coming by love on a hunt would be difficult.

Up until two months ago Dean listened to her voice mail on a daily basis, until the cell phone company shut it off. The photo was in his duffle bag in the zippered side pocket. He was defying death, listening to her voice mail message. Her husky voice helped him to endure the day. The photo was etched into his mind. He looked for reminders of her facial features in people, and found nothing. He bore it all in secret.

He swore he would never tell his brother the truth: Dean had been inducted into the Winchester rite of passage. He glanced down, seeing his reflection in the shiny black exterior. Five months ago he needed to be alone with his loss and suffer with it in order to atone. But now he lapsed, being momentarily exhausted by his ruse.

"Cassie's dead."

"Not funny, Dean," Sam looked horrified, and raised his voice. "If you guys are fighting or she's found someone else. . ." The younger Winchester took a step back from the car. "You're sick, Dean, sick." The words were clipped and staccato, showing his brother's anger.

Sam was disgusted with his brother. The younger Winchester had experienced the death of his Jessica. He assumed his brother's joke was beyond insensitive. It was cruel and showed a lack of integrity. Dean realized he had played the game too well. He had successfully hidden the truth. His motto was: Believe the worse and be surprised when anything else happens. So, he wasn't taken aback by Sam's revulsion.

The older hunter closed his eyes, wishing it was all true. He wished that he and Cassie were fighting. Another man would be a blessing. But Cassie had been cursed because of her connection to Dean Winchester. He thought about letting Sam think the worse about him. Then Cassie would be alive. However, something in his composure revealed him.

"God, Dean, I'm sorry. When did it happen?"

Sam faded before him as he was caught in the lure of memories. He simplified his answers, distinguishing them from the swirling soliloquy in his mind. "Back in Dumas."

Sam nodded. "How?"

The older Winchester kept silent. The Demon penetrated their entire existence, flagrant in its attacks on the Winchester family. By telling Sam the truth he would be empowering the evil. "Does it really matter?"

"No." Sam shook his head. "I never wished this on you. . ." He grabbed his brother's forearm, binding them together-in blood and ill fate.

The air smelled clean and dry. Reports had indicated there was already snowfall in the mountains. The brown, acrid dirt stayed listless. Dean knew his brother wasn't malevolent. He had never considered that Sam wanted the brothers to have a stronger kinship and be tied by lost love. The younger Winchester's guilt was escaping and the trickle would be a waterfall soon enough unless Dean stopped it.

"Sam get in the car." The dark haired hunter would apologize for the stupid remarks in Dumas, for his comments a minute ago and for not giving Dean more time with Cassie. Dean lifted a hand to halt his brother's internal litany before he could voice it.

"Sam get in the car." Dean hopped off the Impala, but Sam held his forearm grip firm. The older hunter returned the grasp with a watery smile.

"Sammy, maybe when I am good and drunk we'll talk about it, but right now you're going to say how it's your fault." The younger man opened his mouth to contradict his brother. Dean shook his head. "And I'm going to have to hit you." Dean tightened the grip, pulled his brother forward and off balance. He placed his other hand on Sam's shoulder, his head close to his brother's left ear. "I don't want to hurt you little brother." He said in a low voice.

Sam patted his brother's back and gave out a choked laugh. "Whatever you say, Dean."

The blond hunter loosened his grip, and walked over to the driver's side of the Impala. He rested his hands on the hood of the car. "Get in the car, Sam." His brother's burden was eased. Dean's guilt remained. Guilt was his domain, and he would endure it.

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The End

Please review!

Coming soon: Black Bras & Strappy Heels featuring Dean, Caleb (Ridley's Caleb) and John.

Also Coming soon: The completion of Dogtown


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